


Midnight Sunlight

by milkdaze (flowerstems)



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Assassins & Hitmen, F/F, Panic Attacks, Slow Build, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-20
Updated: 2017-07-13
Packaged: 2018-09-11 13:37:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 18,993
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8982112
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flowerstems/pseuds/milkdaze
Summary: As an assassin who doesn't know the best way to dispatch someone with a blade, one who chooses not to use specific weapons unless ordered, and who knows in her bones she is not fully dedicated to her job, she knows she has no right taking on an apprentice. Not again, not so soon, yet here she is with another life in her hands.





	1. Hired Headswoman

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Femslash Big Bang 2016.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She breathes in deep, feels her lungs fill then empty in one long exhalation. This must be what it means to be alive.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry I couldn't finish it in time for the big bang, but I am working on finishing it. This is my first time working on something like this. I was going for a novel-like feel, but its pacing is pretty all over the place (more on the slow side, I think). I don't know if it's anyone's cup of tea but if anyone decides to give this a shot then enjoy! Constructive criticism is more than welcome, especially since I'm not done with this yet.

A heart is a weapon.

 

It keeps its wielder alive, but it must be maintained to be useful. It is designed to bring death, but it can preserve life when in hands that willing to work for it.

 

Life is a vibrant thing that glows with song and sings with light. Life is grassy flower fields and huge, leafy trees climbing into the sky. Life is chittering songbirds flitting along shady branches and swooping near the earth, alongside clusters of butterflies searching for nectar while shuddering through flowers spattering the green fields with reds and yellows, whites and pinks. Life is blue skies and songbirds, sunny days and happy smiles, sleepy smiles and cold mornings, sullen skies and animals tucking themselves away from the incoming rain.

 

She breathes in deep, feels her lungs fill then empty in one long exhalation. This must be what it means to be alive. Life is something beautiful

 

She opens her eyes and here comes reality: a dark office, a stranger, the stench of fear. This is life, too. This is her life.

 

Kiyoko draws her dagger, the blade glinting coldly in the moonlight flooding the room through a large window. What is there to look at so high above concrete, concrete, and more concrete? The man has seen her by now. That’s okay.

 

The target is slow, too slow to get away from her, too slow to stop her from closing in on him and stabbing him in the back. Too far to the right, she missed the spine. She pulls the blade out of him to slash him across the back, a long gash, cutting through muscle and the wound all over again, and some blood splatters onto her as he collapses, writhing in pain. Hopefully this will be labelled as foul play.

 

There’s the familiar weight of guilt as he tries to grab at the wound and comfort himself. There’s the hollow pang of regret because he’s so loud, so pitiful—she thinks she would die noisily, too.

 

What’s the least painful way to kill with a blade? After all this time, Kiyoko still doesn’t know. She’s not very good with blades when it comes to quick and clean kills, but she insists on using them when she can. Stubborn, she knows.

 

Still, there should be a manual for these things. Cutting off the head is _far_ too messy, as are multiple stabs, but a single stab would be a too-slow death—it would be a death that could compromise her. Kiyoko stabs him through the throat, cutting through skin and bone, and he falls limp with a sick gurgle. It takes less than a minute to confirm the target’s death and that’s that. Business as usual.

 

It’s fine. Tonight is a fine night. Kiyoko doesn’t feel awful. Not tonight, not at all.

 

A heart is a weapon.

 

You know, the line between endurance and detachment is hard to feel out. Sometimes Kiyoko cries after a kill—her chest hurts, her throat tightens, and the tears run hot without her permission. Other times, like now, she just watches as though she is nothing more than a witness. A silent witness.

 

Maybe it depends on the target. Maybe it depends on whether she kills the target or the client. It’s her call when it comes down to it, it’s just that killing the client is troublesome because the organisation has _principles_.

 

Either way, it happens and she gets to live with it. Has to live with it. It’s easy to feel out your mortality when you’re faced with it on a daily basis: how easily the body yields to metal, to force, to death. Yet Kiyoko feels lucky. She can defend herself, she can fight for her life on a level most people cannot. It’s easy to understand why some operatives get… carried away with such a realisation, but it only serves to balance Kiyoko out. Vulnerability in one hand, power in the other.

 

The only bright thing in the room is the moonlight and the slivers of still-clean metal. Blood leaks from the man’s throat and pools beneath him, soaking into his clothing. Kiyoko steps away every time the blood gets too close to her shoes. She can’t afford to leave any evidence; they would question her professionalism, among other things. The implication that she does not take her job seriously is as irritating as it is offensive (to her mother).

 

Kiyoko wipes the blood off her dagger, conceals it, and considers how to move forward: she can leave the body for someone to find or she can _act_. She may have killed the man but what is there to gain to leave the body to traumatise some poor passer-by? It’s unnecessary, but she uses the target’s phone for the call (sorry, Ishizaka-san, nothing personal) and does her best _hysterical witness_ voice while informing the police of a murder. After wiping the phone of her prints, she leaves the building within ten minutes.

 

When she’s three blocks away from the scene she pulls herself together. Sobbing through a phone call always requires extra effort, especially if she wants it to be believable, and she just isn’t the best when it comes to hysterics. Perhaps this will be the last time she does that. It’s time-consuming anyway.

 

Life is a vibrant thing that glows with song and sings with light. She breathes in deep to properly compose herself, feels her lungs fill then empty in one long exhalation. This is what it means to be alive. Life is something beautiful

 

She opens her eyes and here comes reality: an empty sidewalk late at night, a dagger pressed to the inside of her arm, the stench of blood, lingering. About ten minutes ago, she cut a man until he choked on his own blood. This is life, too. This is her life.

 

It wouldn’t be wrong to say she’s playing God, her and all her superiors, the clients, but it’s what she’s _supposed_ to do. She cuts life short and all she can do is hope she is the lesser evil.

 

She passes a few people on her way to the train station and she finds her vision is oddly spotty until she takes off her glasses and sees blood, speckled and glittering across the lenses. She frowns; it’s dark out but that doesn’t mean she can be careless. Carefully trying to clean the lenses with the pads of her fingers only serves to smear the blood, all thanks to her miserable attempt, so she gives up and walks with her glasses in hand. It’s all right, she can see well enough to return home, she’s just disappointed that she would be sloppy enough to leave evidence on herself after all this time. She checks her clothing and there is some blood on it. At least she’s in black.

 

Kiyoko calls her client to inform them of the job’s completion. When they finish their self-righteous spiel and transfer the payment (which is confirmed by the office) she heads home on the last train. The car is empty, lucky her, and she spends the entire ride curled in on herself and staring at her blood-smeared glasses. She thinks about the victim, he was just another, and she thinks about the client, the call. One-sided conversations like those always wear on her patience and remind her about unpleasant things she tends to forget. There are countless others who do relatively worse on a daily basis than she does for a living. The clients, for example. It’s all thanks to spiteful people like them that people like her get to eat every day.

 

As the train halts to her stop she gets to her feet in a whir and all she can think is she may have made the wrong decision. Perhaps she should have killed the client.

 

Her apartment is small and grey, both inside and out. The fridge is full enough but the stove is untouched—she only uses the microwave. The bed is neat. The desk has a few books, an unplugged radio, and a heavy bag. The sink and dishes are clean, as is the bathroom. All in all, the apartment looks barely-lived-in. Kiyoko doesn’t really like it, but she doesn’t dislike it either. The only thing she has a problem with is the showerhead that’s angled towards the wall. It’s a pain to deal with every day, but not something she isn’t used to.

 

She cleans her glasses in the bathroom, leaves the bloodied clothes to soak in the sink (even though she knows she can’t use them again) then showers to wash away the blood and grit. No wounds today, no wounds for a while, so she’s careless with towelling herself dry, tugging on her clothes, and throwing herself onto the bed. It’s on the firm side but it’s comfortable enough for her. It’s comfortable but she can’t fall asleep.

 

It’s dark, she can’t see anything, but she stares at the walls and ceiling until dawn creeps behind her curtains, blue light intrusive and insistent. She rubs her fingers over the raised skin of the faded scar on her shoulder.

 

She should have killed the client.


	2. Reminiscence

Kiyoko remembers her first kill. Everyone remembers their first kill. Most people tell her it feels like just yesterday they snapped their first neck, fired their first gun—she can’t say she feels the same. To her, it seems as though it was eons ago. Her first kill is a nightmare on loop once every week or two. It’s easy to block out because it’s a hazy darkness, but if she lets herself think about it then it sticks in the brain like tar. The darkness creeps along the corners of her brain, the fear of it, the panic. Sleep and waking become states she can differentiate only when she knocks her hand on the wall, knocks a chair against a desk, knocks something outside of herself to ground her to reality.

 

At the same time, she can never truly recall her first kill; she can never drown herself in that fear and validate why she feels so deeply disturbed, so _awful_ , with a few glimpses into a distant memory. She can never remember the nightmare and it can never be a decent excuse for the feeling it leaves in her. It's like a nightmare and everyone has a nightmare.

 

This is her nightmare, maybe. It seems dramatic to think of it like this. It’s not much, not really, not when she weighs it against the world. It’s her father slipping out the back door of her childhood home to go to work, disappearing in mind but ever present in body. It’s her mother taking her to the basement, putting a gun in her hands and telling her, “Aim for the forehead, sweetie.”

 

These are what strike her every time:

 

Gun. The overwhelming weight of it in her hands, metal so hot that it felt cold—or was it so cold that it felt hot? She couldn’t hold it well because it hurt her wrists and her mother had to keep fixing her hold on it.

 

Unsteady. Her hands were shaking so badly her mother put one hand on her shoulder, another on her forearm, and steadied her aim. She stands there until her legs hurt, crying because the stranger was crying, and pulling the trigger long after her tears and snot had dried on her face. (Or that’s what her mother tells her, but Kiyoko can’t quite feel the snot or her finger pulling the trigger, but she must have, _she must have_.)

 

Ringing. Oh, the gunshot, it was so loud, so frightening. It had completely missed its target.

 

The gun fired again. Then again and again because her mother told her to—she kept firing and after three clips the bullet had finally hit its mark square in the forehead. The man had died of blood loss long before then. Rigor had set in, her mother told her.

 

Kiyoko doesn’t like guns. She can appreciate their efficiency, the detachment they offer, but she dislikes them. There is nothing that can aid the minimisation of life and death the way pulling a trigger can.

 

Routine. She remembers subsequent training sessions less and less. She remembers every target—every victim—less and less. She feels terrible about it. They were all people. Someone’s child, someone’s friend, relationships are everything. They were people who meant something to someone and she took them for practice, one or two a night, so she could become a sharpshooter and make her mother proud.

 

When she is deemed skilled enough with a gun she tries teaching herself how to handle blades. By the time she is nineteen she starts memorising poisons and their potencies. When she graduates from university she has learnt too much about things she hardly cares for and how to kill a person within two minutes. Only the latter really counts in the long run and she wonders why she spent so much time learning anything at all.

 

By the time Kiyoko is twenty-four she has been accepted into her mother’s line of work and has done her proud. An assassin like her mother before her: she has thirty-seven kills within three months. Her father wanted her to become an informant, something just a smidgen safer as far as he knew, but Kiyoko is better at cutting throats, apparently.

 

At twenty-five she is confident in her skills, confident enough to think she could handle herself and another operative. Surely with the progress she has made, how quickly she has improved, she can provide some sort of guidance to one of the more inexperienced operatives? The division’s supervisor approves the request and Kiyoko takes on her first trainee late in spring.

 

This is the first time Kiyoko lets herself make a decision regarding this line of work.

 

Handling a trainee is tough but she does her best—she teaches him everything she knows and then some. She gets other operatives to give advice and demonstrate odd tricks that she could never take to heart. Kiyoko takes a stranger under her wing and helps make him a full-fledged assassin, and then she makes him her friend. His name Tetsuo and he’s almost a head taller than her but he bows perfectly at the waist out of respect and calls her _Shimizu-senpai_ without reservation.

 

It's their final mission together before he can work as an independent operative. Kiyoko is almost twenty-six and Tetsuo is still taller than her and almost as skilled when he is shot in the chest by a bullet meant for Kiyoko. Maybe they had been chatting too excitedly, maybe they had been careless to leave someone alive in the first place, but they had let someone slip. They let someone follow them.

 

If only they had stood still a moment longer the bullet would have hit its mark—she must have been the target, _it’s her fault_ , why would anyone target a trainee, _her trainee_ —Tetsuo would have lived. Even as she catches him, struggling to support his weight, the gun keeps firing, another bullet lodging lower on Tetsuo’s chest, another in his stomach, another in Kiyoko’s arm. By the time Kiyoko pulls his gun from its holster she has the shooter in her sight—they've fired enough shots to reveal their location, maybe they were desperate. Kiyoko dispatches them quickly enough.

 

Tetsuo’s hands are stained red and his eyes won’t stay open no matter how much Kiyoko wills them to stay _open_. Tetsuo is shivering and crying, he’s never cried in front of her before, but maybe it's hard to hold back tears when the body is dying. He doesn’t ask _why me_ , doesn’t say anything much after whimpering, “So this is it?” as he drools blood, as though he had known this is how he would go: with his hands trying to plug the holes in his abdomen, blood slipping through his fingers and over someone’s legs to pool on a tiled floor. He coughs, sputters, “I’m glad I’m not alone.” He chokes.

 

Still, Kiyoko pulls him into her arms properly and tells him he isn’t going to die, she’s calling an ambulance. She doesn’t tell him that her bloody fingers won’t register on the phone’s touchscreen, and she doesn’t tell him an ambulance isn’t coming, she only tells him he is going to make it. That’s all she tells him even when his heart stops. It seems like something arbitrary but the way he stiffens then goes absolutely limp, heavy in her arms—she knows what it means.

 

Her eyes burn and her vision is blurred anew before her mind can catch up.

 

He had grown so much, learnt even more, and was always optimistic no matter how odd it seemed. He grew on her quickly and just like that he was gone.

 

Kiyoko thought killing people for a living would prepare her for loss, for death, but it doesn’t. Maybe nothing does. She wipes as much blood onto her clothes as she can then carefully closes Tetsuo’s eyes; her arm aches where the bullet is lodged. This is the difference between being able to protect oneself and being able to protect another.

 

She organises his funeral, his burial, and she apologises to his parents. They are strong in front of her but their eyes are wet and red, voices raspy, and their grief intertwines with her regret, hooks around her neck like an albatross, and all she can say is _sorry_.

 

Eventually, she transfers to another division; she hasn’t taken on another trainee since.

 

In retrospect, it was an incredibly bold thing to think—that she could train and protect someone.

 

Now Kiyoko is twenty-eight and she moves through her life with practised care. The scar on her arm has almost healed over completely, it’s barely noticeable raised skin. She listens to people talk about dreams, what they’re going to do when they have enough saved up, when they can break away from this lifestyle, and it makes her smile.

 

_When I can break away from this lifestyle, I’m going to…_

_I’m going to…?_

Going to do what? Sometimes, she dedicates an hour to just thinking about it: I’m going to grow a garden, I’m going to get a quiet job, I’m going to meet someone new, I’m going to live my life.

 

Am I? I don’t know.

 

I’m uncertain.

 

Uncertain. Just the word makes her feel as though her bones will shake right out of her body. Certainty is much better, much safer. The only thing she’s certain about is that she’s been trained to kill people: whoever is the greater wickedness. As long as she gets the job done, as long as she does the organisation proud, what else does she need to be certain of?

 

One night, when Kiyoko is the last to leave the office, it occurs to her that she wants to be certain of herself, her future. How long can she hide behind the dedicated assassin masquerading as an office worker? There’s a chill in the corridor because of the air conditioner; the skin of her cheeks and neck, her wrists and ankles, sting with the cold of it. How long can she continue living like this before change seeks her out and tears her apart? What will she do then?

 

What is she doing now?

 

“Oh,” Kiyoko says in the empty corridor and the sound of it echoes like a ghost. She barely recognises her own voice.

 

Kiyoko is twenty-eight when she truly realises, for the first time in her life, the life she is living is not the life she wants to live.


	3. Apple Blossom

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yachi Hitoka is a bright, beautiful woman. Her kindness is tangible with just a glance, either in the soft brown of her eyes or the way she looks in the light, but Kiyoko hasn't dealt with another person in so long. It's strange, socially dangerous, yet Kiyoko doesn't want to pull away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> disclaimer: i don't know much about panic attacks aside from personal experience. always let the person do what is comfortable for them and, if necessary, get medical attention as soon as possible.

At the office everyone is chattering and running to and fro, busy as usual. Kiyoko sits at her desk, listens to bits and pieces of different conversations and chimes good mornings to everyone who passes by while writing up her mission report. She edits it three times before finally printing it, lingering by the printer because Ryuunosuke and Yuu have questions ‘no one else can answer’. She’s not sure what they’re asking or what prompts her to half-heartedly smack them both, but they’re grinning and thanking her either way so Kiyoko leaves them to themselves, heading to the third floor to deliver her report to their supervisor—there’s a lot she’s not sure of these days, anyway, so she might as well leave it alone. She flips through the report one last time, not like she can change anything at this point, then knocks on the door and waits to be let in.

 

The door unlocks with an electronic buzz and Kiyoko tightens her hold on the report as she lets herself into the office. It’s unremarkable despite its location and given its size, its furnishings, it looks like it could be anyone’s office. Where she expects to see her supervisor, Ukai, she finds his assistant, Takeda, slouching over the desk, fingers skittering over the keyboard. Takeda fills in for Ukai often, maybe too often, but the two of them pull it off flawlessly—whatever it is—so no one says anything about it. Not even the higher-ups.

 

Takeda glances up once and types impossibly fast as Kiyoko strides over to the desk and waits until he finishes whatever he’s doing on the computer. Takeda is a kind man and most times he seems like a pushover; most times he seems out of place in this line of work but everyone respects him enough to disregard the idea of taking advantage of his kindness.

 

Actually, she knows quite a few people who seem too kind, too soft, for what this job requires of them, yet they are excellent when it comes to getting the job done; she supposes they all have their own reasons for being here. Kiyoko’s reason is, well, she doesn’t think she’s qualified to be doing anything else.

 

There’s an odd habit Takeda has on top of getting carried away with (practised?) speeches: he likes to quote literature. A lot. Kiyoko doesn’t mind, he usually has interesting quotes to share, but today when he pulls himself away from the keyboard he simply greets Kiyoko with a smile. He doesn’t start a conversation so, taking it as a cue to proceed, she hands him the report and debriefs him on the kill. Flipping through her report, he nods as though he’s listening to everything she’s saying—he may be, he may not be, Kiyoko can never tell—and when she’s done he dismisses her gratefully.

 

That’s odd.

 

She asks about any other jobs, any other work she can do, but he tells her there’s nothing that isn’t being handled.

 

“If something comes up, I’ll call you.”

 

Kiyoko nods and leaves the office. She stops by her desk to check a few things, tie up some loose ends, and by the time she’s done it’s only midday.

 

What’s she supposed to do for the rest of the day?

 

She lingers in the kitchenette on the ground floor, flipping a plastic-wrapped sandwich over and over in her hands until Saeko slaps a friendly hand on her shoulder and says, “Cheer up. People usually beg for days off.”

 

Kiyoko hums in response. It’s not that she minds having a day off, it’s just that she doesn’t know what to do with it. As it stands she’s been left with nothing to do and that’s frustrating whether you’re free or not.

 

"If you’re that keen on finding something to do," Saeko supplies, though she sounds tentative, as though she isn’t sure she should be telling Kiyoko this at all, but Kiyoko nods, interested, so Saeko continues. "Our division just got a newbie. I was supposed to handle them but I let my work catch up with me." She snorts, lets out something of a cackle and Kiyoko chortles because she and Ryuunosuke are so similar despite his protests. "Maybe you can show them the ropes since you’re free?"

 

That’s exactly what Kiyoko thought she could do the last time she took on a trainee. When the silence lingers Saeko immediately backtracks, says it’s only a suggestion and not something Kiyoko has to feel obligated to do, but Kiyoko says it’s a good idea. Why she says that she’s not sure, but she thanks Saeko, gives her the sandwich (Kiyoko isn’t very hungry anymore), and leaves the kitchenette.

 

The corridor is cold and quiet. The only sounds are Kiyoko’s footsteps echoing along the clean tile and her heartbeat hammering in her head, her ears. She pinches her the collar of her shirt away from her neck and pauses in her stride to unbutton her suit jacket and take two deep breaths; what is she doing? Is she going to jeopardise another employee?

 

No, she’s just going to show them around or answer their questions or give whatever little direction they need to get off their feet and get started here. If they were recruited, then they are fully capable of handling themselves with the right assistance. Kiyoko will take them to the manager and he will refer them to someone he considers capable. This is just part of being a decent person—it’s part of her job, too. It’s fine.

 

It’s fine, she’s just going to offer some assistance. She waits until the air conditioning cools her enough for her to feel presentable before adjusting her jacket, leaving it unbuttoned, and walking the rest of the way to the lobby, keeping herself calm with the mantra: it’s fine, don’t over think it.

 

She opens the door to the lobby in one smooth swing and the new gush of air conditioning, the familiar room, almost calms her enough to trick her into forgetting what she was worrying about. There’s a woman sitting in the middle of the couch with her hands on her knees. She’s small, smaller than Kiyoko, blonde hair pulled back into a neat pony, and she sits quietly, knocking her knees together in a precise rhythm while she worries her lip between her teeth. She’s alone—they’re alone, everyone else has work to do. Kiyoko wonders how long she has been waiting here.

 

"Good afternoon," Kiyoko says, closing the door behind her and walking over to the couch. She’s about to sit when the girl springs to her feet and stammers, face suddenly flushed.

 

"Good afternoon," she manages and she seems nervous, maybe intimidated, with the way her breath stutters out of her, shoulders tense. Kiyoko knows the feeling.

 

"I’m Shimizu Kiyoko." Trying a friendly smile, Kiyoko offers her hand, which the girl stares at for a while before startling, as though she’s suddenly realised what’s happening, and taking her hand.

 

It’s cold, colder than Kiyoko’s, and the woman adjusts her grip twice before shaking Kiyoko’s hand.

 

She blurts, "I’m Yachi Hitoka," then she ducks her head, "I’m sorry if I’m being a nuisance. I mean, I hope I’m not!" She says it all so quickly Kiyoko almost can’t keep up. "I mean. Excuse me-"

 

"Hitoka-chan," she says and Hitoka blinks, head snapping up and she looks at Kiyoko but not in the eyes. "Let’s take a deep breath. Shall we?" Hitoka stares at her so long Kiyoko almost thinks she shouldn’t have said anything at all, but then Hitoka nods so Kiyoko tightens her grip on her hand. "First, squeeze my hand," Hitoka does, "now take a deep breath in." Kiyoko counts the seconds while Hitoka breathes in. "Hold it," and Hitoka does, her grip tightening on Kiyoko’s hand with every second, "now breathe out." Hitoka breathes out, slouching a little on the exhale, grip on Kiyoko’s hand loosening just a bit. "How’s that?"

 

Hitoka smiles a little, the shape of it unsteady, and she asks, "Can we do it one more time?"

 

"Of course," and Kiyoko guides her through it again. Then again. One more time for good measure. "Do you feel a little better?"

 

"Much better," and Hitoka’s smile is so bright now, still tense, but the difference dazzles Kiyoko and she smiles, too.

 

“That’s good,” Kiyoko says because she’s not sure what else to say. She sits Hitoka down and explains all she can about the organisation, what it entails. There’s a nagging thought in the back of her head telling her to ask Hitoka if this is really what she wants to do, if she really wants to be bound to this work the way regret is bound to choice, but she pushes it back because Hitoka is already here and it’s not Kiyoko’s place to pry. “Why have you chosen to work with us?”

 

Time passes as Hitoka fiddles with her fingers and maybe she won’t answer, but then she looks up, looks right at Kiyoko and it’s a little surprising. “My mother. She’s really good at what she does. You know her, right?”

 

“Yachi Madoka?” Hitoka nods, looking at her expectantly, so Kiyoko elaborates, “The head of the weapons department."

 

“Mhm,” Hitoka smiles, pride radiating off her in waves, just like that. "She works hard for this organisation all the time. I want to make her proud. I want," Hitoka pauses as though she’s searching for words. She looks at her hands, frowns, balls them into fists and says, “I want to work hard, too.”

 

It’s Kiyoko’s turn to search for words and she can’t find anything to say. At that moment Ukai walks into the lobby and Kiyoko gets to her feet immediately, both out of respect and relief. “Good afternoon, Ukai-san. We have someone new,” she gestures to Hitoka who gets to her feet with a bow and a timid good afternoon.

 

“Yes, I know,” Ukai rubs his neck. The scent of smoke carries through the whole room quickly. Kiyoko tries to ignore it. “Is Takeda still holding on for me?”

 

"He is."

 

"Then let’s go. You too, newbie."

 

Hitoka stammers so Kiyoko smiles at her, tilts her head, and Hitoka follows her. They head to the third floor where Takeda is still in Ukai’s office, taking care of calls and paperwork. When he lets them in Takeda immediately moves to scold Ukai—Kiyoko can tell by the way his shoulders tense and his brow crinkles—but he stops himself when he notices Hitoka.

 

"Ah, you must be the new recruit," he says, friendly as ever, and Hitoka nods in response. "We’ll assign you to someone immediately!" Takeda picks up a file, walks right over to Kiyoko and gives the file to her. This isn’t what she thinks it is, Kiyoko tells herself, but when she opens the folder she is greeted by Hitoka’s profile sheet. She closes the folder quickly and almost gapes at Takeda. "Yachi-san meet Shimizu-san."

 

Kiyoko looks at Hitoka out of the corner of her eye and Hitoka is just looking at Takeda, nodding slightly, and then seems to be hit by a realisation. Her head whips in Kiyoko’s direction and Kiyoko tries to look away, but she wants to see the full transition of Hitoka’s expression from confusion to surprise. By the time Hitoka is looking at her, mouth a wide O, eyes bright and expression open, it’s too late for Kiyoko to look away so she does what every other cell in her brain is telling her to do: she smiles at Hitoka. Then she turns to Takeda and asks, “Are you sure? This is a bit sudden.”

 

But Ukai is the one who responds. “We never do things we’re not sure about. You should know that,” and Kiyoko nods because she does know, but at the same time she has no idea what to do with herself or with Hitoka. Thankfully Ukai seems to take pity on her, “Just fill out the necessary paperwork and get started with Yachi-san’s training. There’s no rush, we’re in a good place right now, but don’t slack off either.”

 

“Yes, sir,” Kiyoko responds and when she glances at Hitoka, Hitoka echoes her and salutes enthusiastically. Right then, with the way she bumps her hand against her forehead and purses her lips, Hitoka looks adorable, but Kiyoko shifts her attention to the forms Takeda hands her and separates them instead of letting herself say _Hitoka-chan, you’re cute_. She gives Hitoka her form and they’re about to leave when Takeda calls Kiyoko over and gestures for her to lean in, lowering his head to the side as though he’s about to share a secret. Kiyoko chuckles and meets him halfway.

 

“You’ll do just fine, Shimizu-san. Have some faith in yourself.”

 

She straightens up almost immediately and looks over to Ukai who just folds his arms and nods, a small, encouraging smile betraying the stern set of his shoulders. Kiyoko and Hitoka fill out their forms and as soon as they return them to Takeda he ushers them out and wishes

Hitoka luck.

 

Just like that Kiyoko is assigned a trainee and she feels perfectly scrambled in a way she hasn’t felt for a long time. She still has Hitoka’s file in her hand. She hasn’t read it yet.

 

Hitoka fidgets a little, she still looks tense but not as tense as before. “So, Shimizu-senpai, what do we do now?” She sounds as though she’s not sure she should be asking at all and Kiyoko may be frazzled but she feels the need to put Hitoka at ease before dealing with anything else.

 

“That’s a good question,” Kiyoko taps her chin and sorts through her thoughts. The basics and application; Hitoka doesn’t have to learn everything all at once and Ukai said there was no rush, so… “Are you hungry?”

 

Hitoka looks at her and she’s so open, it’s as though Kiyoko can see the thoughts running through her head, little electric currents jumping around the circuit of her brain and spelling out messages in Hitoka’s eyes, something like—

 

The reality is Kiyoko has no idea what Hitoka is thinking, no matter what she thinks she can see, so she repeats her question and Hitoka blinks at her, looking a little confused, before she says, “Um, yeah, a little.”

 

“Then let’s get something to eat.”

 

It seems like a good suggestion, isn’t this the way most icebreakers go? Things will be easier if she can get Hitoka to feel comfortable around her. That’s the only reason she’s doing this. Naturally.

 

They end up going to a fast food restaurant, which doesn’t bother Kiyoko at all. Hitoka seems surprised but when Kiyoko asks if she’d rather eat somewhere else she shakes her head quickly and insists this is fine. They order two burgers, some fries, two vanilla milkshakes; Kiyoko pays and Hitoka goes from resisting to apologising, even when they occupy a booth to the back of the restaurant near a window.

 

“Hitoka-chan, it’s all right, I wanted to pay.”

 

“Are you sure, senpai? I can pay you back, you don’t have to force yourself to do anything!”

 

Kiyoko doesn’t know if she should feel flattered or exasperated but she does feel amused, and when she ends up laughing Hitoka’s slightly-confused-slightly-shocked expression only tickles her amusement further. “Listen, Hitoka-chan,” she manages between chuckles, “it’s definitely okay. If there’s ever a problem, I’ll be sure to tell you.”

 

Hitoka’s mouth twists in the slightest and she looks as though she doesn’t believe Kiyoko, doesn’t know what to say, but then she lowers her head, just a little, and Kiyoko sees her face move as though she’s smiling. (She could be imagining it.) “I just don’t want to be a bother to you.”

 

“You aren’t a bother.” Hitoka looks up at her so quickly it looks as though it hurts, but Kiyoko forgets to say anything about it because Hitoka’s smile is so impossibly bright, so relaxed, at last, it takes everything out of Kiyoko to stop staring and smile in return. It makes Kiyoko’s chest feel light, unfamiliar with how much easier it is to breathe now. She picks up her burger, “Let’s eat these before they get soggy.”

 

Hitoka agrees with a hum, smile flashing her teeth, and they eat in silence until they’re down to their fries. Hitoka picks at each fry idly, shakes it a little, and then eats it while Kiyoko just pops them into her mouth. The longer she looks at Hitoka play with her fries the stronger Kiyoko’s vague feeling that Hitoka wants to say something. She decides not to push it. If Hitoka wants to tell, then she’ll tell.

 

And tell she does. “I don’t know what I’ll have to do,” Hitoka starts, and she isn’t quite looking at Kiyoko but Kiyoko looks at her, “but I’ll do whatever it is as best as I can.” Hitoka stands up and steps to the side of the table, “I’ll do my best to be a good trainee and I hope I’ll be someone you’ll enjoy working with, so…” She hesitates for a moment then bows, makes herself a perfect right-angle, “It’s an honour to be working with you, senpai!”

 

Some people are glancing over, there are a few indistinct murmurs, but they hardly concern Kiyoko. “Hitoka-chan,” when she says her name, Hitoka looks up, and Kiyoko makes sure to smile at her, sincerely, “it’s an honour to work with you, too.” That seems to be the right thing to say because Hitoka beams at her and returns to her seat, finishing off her fries and milkshake with a flourish. Kiyoko forgot that it’s little things like these that made working with a trainee so enjoyable.

 

She just hopes she can do it right this time.

 

When they’re finished eating it’s late afternoon and a crowd of people rush into the building so they linger on the sidewalk.

 

“Hitoka-chan, how quickly will you be able to move out of your place?”

 

Hitoka looks caught off guard by the question, Kiyoko supposes that’s a natural reaction, and Hitoka sputters more than responds, “I—but. Um. Why?”

 

Kiyoko isn’t sure how to put it simply. “Well, one of the things you’ll have to learn is how to maintain your cover.” Hitoka nods but she looks as though she isn’t following so Kiyoko tries elaborating. “You’ll still have to be a member of society. What will you tell people when they ask you what you do for a living? Will you tell them you’re an assassin?” Hitoka shakes her head so quickly her ponytail almost whips her cheek. “If enough people ask and you can’t answer them easily they’ll start to get suspicious. That’s the last thing you want.”

 

“So then…” Hitoka scrunches her nose, tilting her head to the side. “What are you trying to say, senpai?”

 

“You’ll have to learn to keep your cover, amongst other things. I’m going to help you with that.”

 

“But can’t I just use the company as my cover?”

 

“Yes, you can, when someone gets _fired_ ,” and Kiyoko says _fired_ but she means dismissed, she means killed, and Hitoka seems to understand. She swallows audibly. Kiyoko continues, “You could use the company but then you wouldn’t be able to demonstrate adaptability and flexibility in new situations. Do you see where I’m coming from?”

 

Hitoka puts a hand to her lips, frowns for a moment, and then her eyes open wide as she looks up at Kiyoko, “I’m being evaluated?” Kiyoko nods. “Since when? How long? What kinds of tests do I have to do?” It’s a slow progression but Hitoka is starting to panic, Kiyoko can hear it in the way her voice fractures at the ends of her words.

 

“Slow down,” Kiyoko says, raising her hands to catch Hitoka’s attention. Hitoka looks at her and bites her lip. “I’m your supervisor, remember?” Hitoka nods, “I’m the one evaluating you. Just me. Just to report on your progress. Okay?”

 

“O—kay,” Hitoka’s voice shudders so clears her throat then repeats, “Okay.” She nods, still looking wary. Hitoka takes a few more deep breaths and relaxes her shoulders; she lets her head fall back for a moment with a sigh then inhales sharply, slaps her hands to her cheeks, and flashes Kiyoko a smile that doesn’t reach her eyes.

 

It makes Kiyoko’s skin feel foreign on the backs of her hands, especially compared to the bright smile Hitoka had pulled when they were eating, and the pink palm prints on Hitoka’s cheeks do nothing to help. “You’ll be fine.” Kiyoko’s hand raises without much thought, wanting to do something to help comfort Hitoka, and when she realises what she’s doing she hesitates, maybe it won’t help, but her hand is already on Hitoka’s shoulder. Hitoka doesn’t move away so Kiyoko squeezes her shoulder gently and says, “I believe in you. You’ve gotten this far. I think you’ll do just fine, Hitoka-chan.”

 

Hitoka doesn’t say anything, just presses her lips together when her smile falters and looks over Kiyoko’s shoulder, so Kiyoko lets go of her shoulder—and the moment she does Hitoka looks at her. Her eyes shine and she looks as though she’s might cry but she smiles and this one brightens up her whole face, just a little. It’s a good smile. “I can move out in a week.” Her voice sounds wet and she clears her throat. “Will that be okay?”

 

Thank God. Kiyoko nods and smiles at her. “That’ll be just fine.”

 

Hitoka goes home after waving goodbye and Kiyoko lingers until Hitoka rounds the corner, out of sight, then she turns on her heel and starts making calls. It’s her least favourite thing to do but she has to make arrangements.

 

She won’t fail this time—she won’t get Hitoka killed. This time she’ll be thorough, she’ll be even more careful. She’ll look over her shoulder and check every corner, she’ll do every job thoroughly, she’ll teach Hitoka everything she can and more.

 

Takeda is happy to help with everything: from getting Kiyoko permission to use some weapons for training to locating a new apartment. “It’ll be bugged,” Takeda says over the phone, “as all these apartments tend to be. You know how it is,” and that’s code for tear out all the wires from the bathroom and bedroom but don’t touch the wires in the living room otherwise they will notice.

 

“Thank you, Takeda-san,” Kiyoko smiles then remembers he can’t see her. “I’m grateful.”

 

“So am I. Thank you for taking on Yachi-san on such short notice.”

 

Truth be told, Kiyoko didn’t have much choice in the matter and they both knew it. Still, it could have been worse.

 

“It’s no problem,” Kiyoko lies; it is a problem. The overwhelming fear that she will mess up, that she will fail Hitoka, is buzzing through her muscles and prickling them like pins and needles, making them numb, making her feel as though she will lose control of her body and what then? Her body is the only thing she has: it’s her weapon and her shield, it makes her strong and makes her weak, she can’t lose control of it. She takes a few deep breaths and Takeda asks if she’s all right—of course she is.

 

It’s taking every ounce of her to try to remain calm, to rationalise it. This can be good; she can keep an eye on Hitoka. At least Kiyoko knows she will treat Hitoka kindly, train her patiently, there’s no telling what someone else would have done. They may have left Hitoka to fend for herself or worse: assign her a mission before she’s prepared. Just to get rid of her.

 

That thought hurts.

 

“I have to go, but I’m always glad to help. Thank you again, Takeda-san.”

 

She hangs up as soon as he says goodbye.

 

This is something good. She won’t mess up this time.

 

Kiyoko wants to spend the entire night packing her things, but it doesn’t take much time or energy at all. This isn’t how the night was supposed to go. She spends half an hour in the shower thinking she’ll take longer, but when she’s done it’s only ten and she thinks time has wickedly slowed to a crawl just to get on her nerves. There’s nothing for her to do, nothing but…

 

Hitoka’s file sits on her desk, unopened ever since Kiyoko looked inside and glimpsed a neat picture of Hitoka with _Yachi Hitoka_ printed below it. She should read it, she really should, it’s part of her job as a supervisor, but she can’t bring herself to.

 

_I’d rather ask her myself than read it through a file._

 

It’s a childish thought, she knows, but it’s what she wants. Still, she has to know, for Hitoka’s sake. And yet—

 

Kiyoko presses the heel of her palm to her forehead and groans. Now isn’t the time to be childish.

 

Fuck, fine, she’ll do it. For Hitoka’s sake. She doesn’t want to end up making demands that Hitoka can’t handle and she certainly doesn’t want to put Hitoka in a detrimental position.

 

It’s ten and Kiyoko spends the rest of the night going through Hitoka’s file. She adds Hitoka’s contact information to her phone, notes that Hitoka is healthy, skilled, and the daughter of Yachi Madoka. Hitoka has theoretical knowledge of various weapons, toxins and their antidotes, but she has little applied knowledge outside of mixing toxins and their antidotes.

 

It takes more time than Kiyoko anticipates to plan out a training regimen. Trying to allocate enough time to what needs to be done while keeping the schedule flexible enough for interruptions or assignments is far more difficult than Kiyoko expects it to be. It’s dawn when she has finally put it all together and her alarm rings off just as she lets her head drop onto the pillow.

 

All she does is groan. Then she silences it. There’s another alarm to wake her up in an hour’s time—at least, it better wake her.


	4. Grin and Bear It

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warnings for referenced vomiting because i know some people hate that (i feel you)

The alarm goes off far too soon for it to be all right and Kiyoko picks up her phone, willing her distaste to filter through her bleary gaze and silence the alarm. It doesn’t work. It would be so easy to dismiss it and go back to sleep by throwing her phone out the window, the temptation is so strong, but she holds her ground and stares at the screen until the alarm stops. The screen blinks off and she buries her face into her pillow. Her will is strong.

 

Two minutes later when she checks her phone again the alarm repeats, exactly on time, so she resigns herself to her fate and crawls out of bed. Her warm, comforting bed that has never been softer than it is at this moment.

 

Her will is strong.

 

Getting ready is repetitive and she does it in a groggy haze of activity, wishing she could go back to sleep, and biting back that wish with the reminder that she couldn’t because that would make her a bad supervisor. Did she ever mention she hates her job? She does. She tries not to think it because it’s her life, but she does.

 

“Hello?” Hitoka’s voice is almost the same energetic lilt over the phone, just a little electronic. She doesn’t sound sleepy at all—Kiyoko tries to sound the same.

 

“Hitoka-chan? It’s Shimizu. Shimizu Kiyoko.”

 

“Shimizu-senpai!” It’s easy to imagine Hitoka smiling; just the thought of the happy curve of Hitoka’s mouth makes Kiyoko feel like it will be a good day. It doesn’t make sense but Kiyoko isn’t awake enough to try reasoning it out. “Good morning, are you well?”

 

“I am, thank you,” Kiyoko lies, she doesn’t want to worry Hitoka just because she’s grumpy. “I’d like to ask you about your training, is it okay?”

 

“Um, what is it?”

 

“Are you fine with starting today or do you want to start next week?” There’s a yelp on the other end of the line and Kiyoko jumps, “Are you okay?”

 

“Sorry! Yes, I’m fine. We can start today because that’s fine, too!”

 

“Let’s meet at the rec grounds? Do you know where it is?”

 

“Karasuno’s? Yeah! The one with the gym and the pool and the golf course-”

 

“You know it well.”

 

Hitoka laughs, it’s fluttery and embarrassed, “Yes, well! Sometimes I go there with my mother.”

 

“That’s nice.” There’s a fuzzy feeling at the back of Kiyoko’s head when she thinks about Hitoka going there, maybe to swim or play tennis. She’s sure swimming with Hitoka would be fun. “Meet me at the gym around eleven?”

 

“Yes, sure! I’ll see you later!”

 

“See you.” Kiyoko waits until the call drops then she sighs, looking at the only suitcase in the room that doesn’t belong to her. After unzipping it, she toes it open and counts the weapons in it before kicking the suitcase shut.

 

Sadly, Hitoka won’t be going there with her to have fun. Kiyoko feels guilty about that even as she drags the suitcase out of her apartment two hours before the agreed time. With this much time before they meet up, Kiyoko can afford to make a stop at the clinic.

 

According to protocol, and perhaps the laws of propriety, Kiyoko should make an appointment before stopping by the clinic. Usually, she would, but today’s visit was more spur-of-the-moment than planned. That’s why when Kiyoko manages to catch Yui flitting about the clinic she considers herself lucky.

 

“Kiyoko,” Yui greets her with a bright smile and pulls her into a warm hug. Kiyoko could fall asleep on her and any smack she would get afterwards would be more than worth it. “We barely ever see you around. Is it because you’re too good to be injured or do you still insist on patching up your own wounds?”

 

“You know it’s because I’m too good,” Kiyoko jokes and Yui half-heartedly smacks her arm.

 

“It’s okay to drop by if you need treatment! Though you look fine to me. So,” Yui tilts her head to the side as she looks Kiyoko over, knuckles pressed to her chin as she muses, “why are you here?”

 

“I wanted to know how to help someone having a panic attack.”

 

Yui raises her brow, mouth forming a perfect little ‘o’ while unasked questions flit across her expression. “All right then. Have a seat and I’ll be with you shortly, yeah?”

 

“You’re not going to make me sit through a check-up, are you?”

 

“Don’t tempt me, Kiyoko,” Yui laughs, tongue poking out from her smile. Despite her jokes, Yui returns quickly and she answers Kiyoko’s question seriously, telling her what to do and what to refrain from doing. Kiyoko still has an hour left before she has to meet up with Hitoka by the time Yui finishes with, “Most importantly, Kiyoko, do not leave the person alone. Not unless they can handle the attack by themselves and they have their own method of dealing with it.”

 

Kiyoko nods, she can imagine a multitude of reasons as to why she shouldn’t leave them alone—half of them may be exaggerated and baseless, but she can imagine. “Thank you, Yui.”

 

“No problem,” Yui chimes, all the serious lines of her face wiped away by her bright smile. “But I wonder if you’ll tell me why you asked?”

 

“Maybe some other time,” Kiyoko smiles, easily ignoring Yui’s pout, “I have an appointment to keep.”

 

“Oh, Kiyoko, you’re no fair.” Yui sighs but she waves Kiyoko off. “Go on, I won’t keep you any longer.”

 

“Thanks again. Really.”

 

Apparently, Kiyoko gave herself too much time because when she gets to the recreational grounds she’s half an hour early. The recreational grounds are in a strange spot, snug between two towns. It’s surrounded by plants, towering, old trees, and it keeps the company of two artificial lakes. Even though it’s an open area, no one can use the facilities unless they have a pass—that’s right, Kiyoko should get Hitoka a pass soon, it’ll be more convenient for her.

 

Why are these things so complicated? Kiyoko leans near one of the gym’s doors and kicks at some gravel, rubbing little stones into the ground with her shoe. The perks are nice but everything else rounds it all out to being an average pain in the ass. If her mother hadn’t walked her through it Kiyoko wouldn’t even be here. Where would she be if not here?

 

“Shimizu-senpai?” Kiyoko looks up and there Hitoka is, confused half-smile in place. Her hair looks cute in a bun; she even has little stars clipping her hair up and out of the way. Kiyoko only realises she’s staring when she realises Hitoka is staring, and the only way she would know is because she has been looking at her all this time.

 

They both look away and check the time.

 

“Hitoka-chan,” Kiyoko manages to keep the stammer out of her voice, “it’s 10:35. It’s too early for you to be here.”

 

“Same for you, senpai!” Hitoka is much less successful in keeping her voice steady and it must be the difference in experience. Kiyoko chances a glance and finds Hitoka tapping furiously at her phone. Kiyoko stops tapping idly at her phone—why are they both pretending? “Why’d you get here so soon?”

 

“To prepare,” Kiyoko lies. Goddammit, she was supposed to admit she didn’t know what else to do with herself and she ended up here with half an hour to spare. “Why are you here so soon?”

 

“I—” Hitoka pauses and it’s the kind of pause that takes too long to be natural. It’s the kind of pause someone takes when they’re trying to come up with a lie. Kiyoko grins, her own embarrassment minimised to a negligible thing in the face of Hitoka’s flush, her stammering. “Don’t laugh!” The only reason Kiyoko earnestly laughs is because Hitoka said not to; Hitoka stands there with her fists curled into her sides, still embarrassed. She looks as though she’s between fighting down a laugh and trying to keep a frown in check “Aw, come on- what about you? You prepare for training by kicking pebbles, senpai?”

 

“Uh.” Fair point. Kiyoko clears her throat and adjusts her glasses. “You got me. It’s not like I could prepare for your training without you.” Just like that Hitoka relaxes despite the redness lingering in her cheeks and ears. Kiyoko smiles and puts a hand on the door, “Since we’re both early—since you’re so eager to start your training,” she corrects, and Hitoka twists her mouth to the side. Kiyoko laughs. “We might as well start early. What say you, Hitoka-chan?”

 

“I say we might as well.” Hitoka playfully rolls up her short sleeves and Kiyoko opens the door, letting Hitoka enter the gym first. Hitoka looks around and- She’s tiny against the open backdrop of the gym, absolutely tiny and maybe out of place, but she looks around as though she’s walking through a familiar room and checking to make sure everything is where she left it. “Senpai, what’s with the suitcase?”

 

“Oh,” Kiyoko drags it over to the centre of the gym and Hitoka meets her halfway, stooping down beside Kiyoko. When she throws the suitcase open Hitoka stumbles back and lands right on her ass. “These are some of the things you’ll be learning to use.”

 

Hitoka gapes, her eyes flying between the weapons and Kiyoko like a newly caged bird trying to break free, thinking it can still break free. She licks her lips and swallows audibly. If it were any louder it would echo, surely. “All of them?”

 

If Kiyoko were a cage, she wouldn’t have the heart to keep Hitoka trapped in her. Perhaps that’s why cages don’t have hearts, don’t have any options at all. Kiyoko doesn’t want to be a cage; she doesn’t want Hitoka to be a bird at all. “If you learn one of each you learn them all, but you can choose which one you want to specialise in.”

 

“Specialise?”

 

Kiyoko hums, “The one you’ll usually use. You only need to learn how to use the others as a formality.”

 

“Formality?” Maybe Kiyoko does something weird with her expression without realising it because Hitoka clamps a hand over her mouth and apologises. “Sorry! All these questions, but I just-”

 

“No, it’s okay. It’s better you ask.” Hitoka nods and Kiyoko puts effort into schooling her expression. “It’s just so you can say ‘I can use all kinds of weapons.’ It makes your assassin’s résumé prettier.” Hitoka snorts at that and Kiyoko would dare say she’s proud. “And sometimes the clients get picky with the specifics of the job.”

 

“So some of them may want you to… snipe a target?” Hitoka seems to struggle with saying it. Kiyoko’s not sure how she feels about that.

 

“Yes. Others may want you to poison or cut them down, but you already know that. Right?”

 

“Uh, well. I just didn’t get why until you explained.” Hitoka looks down, biting her lip and curling her hands in her lap, and Kiyoko walks over to her and offers her hand. Hitoka hesitates then takes it and pulls herself to her feet. “Thank you.”

 

Kiyoko doesn’t buy that excuse but she shrugs it off. “As long as you get it now.” It’s not a big deal. “Which weapon do you want to specialise in?”

                                                     

Hitoka stares at the suitcase, walking around it a few times, and then asks, “Is it possible to do all this without specialising? Without a weapon at all?”

 

“Well.” Kiyoko isn’t too sure how to answer that. Sure, theoretically it’s possible, but Kiyoko doesn’t like the idea of Hitoka strangling each of her targets with her bare hands, or having to punch them to death. “Maybe, but it’ll be a lot harder. Messier.”

 

“I see,” Hitoka puts a hand to her chin and looks at the weapons a little longer. “I think I’ll go with guns?”

 

“Guns?”

 

“Yeah,” Hitoka looks at her hands, curls her hands into fists then uncurls them, and nods. “Yeah. Guns.”

 

Kiyoko doesn’t know what she was expecting, but her heart sinks a little. Maybe she’s still trying to come to terms with everything.

 

Maybe it’s because she hasn’t used a gun in months. She’s been spoiling herself.

 

“Guns then.” Kiyoko holds out her hand again and smiles, even though it feels fake she keeps that smile in place, “Let’s do our best, Hitoka-chan.” Hitoka nods with a small smile and shakes her hand firmly.

 

It’s the last time Kiyoko sees Hitoka smile for a week.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Conditioning is hell. It’s nothing new for Kiyoko, she’s been conditioned _enough_ and she trains enough to be able to do what she must, but Hitoka? It’s as though it’s her first time even hearing of it (it isn’t) and the first few days she collapses halfway through the regimen. The day after that she makes it past midday. Two days after that she almost pulls through to the end.

 

“Hitoka-chan, remember when I asked you when you could move out of your place?”

 

Hitoka is running laps around the gym, 198, 199, and she looks over at Kiyoko who nods for her to keep running. So she keeps running, struggling to get her words out, “I do. I’m ready. Why?”

 

“We’ll go next week instead.”

 

“Why?”

 

Kiyoko holds her hand up when Hitoka finishes her final lap, a proud, new 200 for her record, and she walks over, giving Hitoka a bottle of water when she catches her breath. Hitoka manages a smile and a thanks before draining half the bottle in one long drink.

 

“You’re doing well. I figured it would be good to let you finish this before moving on.”

 

“Oh,” Hitoka is still breathless after all, it doesn’t show but Kiyoko can hear it. “If you think—if that’s good.”

 

“I think so.” Hitoka doubles over then and Kiyoko catches her before she hits the ground. She claps a hand over her mouth but retches despite trying to hold it back. Kiyoko just holds her hair out of her face and rubs her back. “There, there,” she wants to ask if Hitoka is all right, but it seems pointless.

 

“I’m fine,” Hitoka forces out, but then she’s retching again and Kiyoko says it’s time for a break. “But I can still go,” Hitoka grits out, stubborn.

 

“Can you even hold yourself up?” Hitoka presses her lips together and looks upset, mouth tight with anger, but Kiyoko knows when giving in is a good idea and when it isn’t. Right now, it isn’t, and she stares Hitoka down until Hitoka gives in and mumbles that she can’t. “That’s what I thought. We’re taking a break.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

Every day Hitoka doubles over and empties her stomach onto the gym floor, even when the only thing she’s eaten for the day is one of the sandwiches Kiyoko brought, and every day Kiyoko takes her home.

 

Halfway through the front door Hitoka passes out. Every time. The first time it happens Kiyoko lets herself out. She uses Hitoka’s key to lock the door then slides it under the door on a note that reads: you passed out, door locked, key here.

 

(Hitoka doesn’t see the note and she calls Kiyoko, frantic until Kiyoko manages to tell her where the key is. Hitoka apologises for five minutes.)

 

When Kiyoko eases Hitoka onto the bed she notices anew that Hitoka is a person: a body of flesh and bone with blood and a mind just like any other person. Hitoka could have easily been a target, someone she would have had to choose to kill or spare. Would she have done it-

 

Kiyoko’s bones seem to jolt in her, revolted by the idea of murdering Hitoka. Kiyoko unfolds Hitoka’s blanket and drapes it over her, fabric stars covering Hitoka as Kiyoko lets her hand linger and brush at strands of hair that are already neatly out of Hitoka’s face.

 

She pretends it never happened and lets herself out, making sure the door is locked by bumping her hip against it and twisting the doorknob a few times then running off. A cloying feeling sticks to her flesh, wiggling about under her skin, and something went wrong somewhere, she just can’t figure out where.

 

 

* * *

 

 

By the end of the third week, Hitoka pulls through the regimen and it’s hard to tell which one of them is happier—but Hitoka still collapses, and Kiyoko still takes her home, where Hitoka still passes out. By then Kiyoko has taken to sticking the note on the door before letting herself out: you passed out (again), door locked (again), look down (again).

 

Takeda asks for biweekly updates about Hitoka’s progress. Some of the messages imply Hitoka should be ready within the year, and Kiyoko doesn’t know what to make of that timeline.

 

They haven’t even begun weapons’ training, but Kiyoko supposes it can wait. They’re not racing against time. Not yet.

 

Today Hitoka calls Kiyoko early—five a.m. early—and Kiyoko briefly thinks she shouldn’t have pushed Hitoka so hard from the start, she should have given her more breaks, why else would Hitoka be calling her at this hour if not out of the scant wickedness in her heart?

 

“Senpai?” Kiyoko manages a groan in response and Hitoka sniffles, “Thank you. Again. And sorry to call you so early, but can we start training earlier today?”

 

So maybe Hitoka doesn’t have any wickedness in her heart—or maybe she does. Kiyoko can’t tell.

 

“How early are we talking?” Kiyoko asks even though she knows training isn’t scheduled for today; however, if Hitoka wants to train, Kiyoko is sure she can work out... something. “Because today is a rest day, remember?”

 

“Huh?”

 

“Yeah. You have to let your body recover, especially with how you’ve been for the past week.” On the other end of the line, Hitoka sputters and says things that muffle with static on their way over. Kiyoko can’t understand any of it but she smiles to herself. Right, Hitoka can’t see her. “Besides, Hitoka-chan, today is the day we move into the apartment, remember?”

 

“Oh yeah, it’s already been a week—wait. What?” Hitoka is sputtering and this time she’s talking quickly, too quickly for Kiyoko to catch anything other than, “What do you mean we?”

 

Didn’t Kiyoko mention that one, specific detail? Didn’t she? She did, right? She can’t function at five a.m. unless she’s been planning for it, and Kiyoko has not been planning for this.

 

“Yeah, we, because it’ll be more convenient. Details at ten. I’ll send you the address and we’ll meet up there, okay?” Kiyoko feels herself drifting and she props her head up by sticking her chin into the crook of her elbow. Talking to Hitoka is nice, even when Hitoka is talking circles around her, but, “Please let me sleep, Hitoka-chan.”

 

“Oh—okay. Yes. Sorry for waking you so early, senpai. See you later!”

 

“Later,” Kiyoko slurs, trying to end the call five times before it drops, thank goodness for Hitoka. Kiyoko texts Hitoka the address, throws in the best directions she can, then tries to weigh how much time she has, if falling asleep again would even be worth it. Yes, it would be, every minute counts, and right as she’s drifting again she finds herself wondering if Hitoka wakes up this early every morning, if it’s a normal thing to do. Maybe she should try it?

 

Kiyoko rolls over and her bed is so comfortable—there’s no way she can be an early riser. Everyone’s different, after all.

 

It’s nine a.m. when Kiyoko checks the time again. When it sinks in through the haze of sleep she stubbornly pushes herself out of bed, rushing through getting ready and shoving three suitcases and a few boxes out of her apartment. She sighs and lets herself half-sit on a suitcase, startling when her phone rings. There’s a flash of anxious excitement and she thinks maybe it’s Hitoka, but when she checks the caller and finds it’s not Hitoka after all, it takes effort to keep the disappointment out of her voice.

 

“Good morning, Saeko-san.”

 

“I can hear you frowning, did you burn your toast?” So even her efforts to sound not-sulky are going to waste? “I can see you standing there and sulking, too.”

 

“You’re already here?” Kiyoko walks over to the bannister and scans the carpark, finding Saeko’s van (the company’s van incognito) tucked into a corner. Well damn.

 

“Been here a while. Long enough to see you rush out with everything you own,” Saeko cackles and Kiyoko can already feel the image of Saeko cracking up and hitting the steering wheel while she laughs searing into the back of her head. “I’ll come help you with some of that stuff.”

 

“Thanks,” Kiyoko says, grateful despite feeling oddly spurned. Saeko snickers, hangs up, and it only takes them both two trips to get everything into Saeko’s van. Now, for what Kiyoko has been dreading the moment she saw Saeko parked in the corner, what she has been trying not to dwell on all this time:

 

Saeko starts up the van, lets it idle for all of ten seconds, and then tears out into the streets, throwing almost every traffic law Kiyoko knows to the wind.

 

“Saeko-san,” Kiyoko stammers out, she’s trying to be brave but the longer she sits in this passenger seat the harder it gets to pin down any sort of bravery to call her own. “Maybe, a little slower-”

 

“Huh? But you’re late, I’ve got half an hour to get you to the next town!”

 

Kiyoko tries to crush herself into the seat. Maybe she should have stayed awake when Hitoka had called her after all, but it was so early. Curling her fist around her seatbelt and sliding her gaze to Saeko, Kiyoko sighs and accepts her fate; she brought this upon herself. “Just don’t… do anything I’ll regret.”

 

Saeko grins, tongue peeking out of her sharp-toothed grin, “You know I’d _never_.”

 

They get to the next town in ten minutes and the apartment complex in five more—only because Saeko got lost and had to double back. Do you know what that means? Do you know Kiyoko thought that was impossible until it happened?

 

When Kiyoko gets out of the van she feels unsteady. This is the last time she asks Saeko to take her anywhere. Saeko is either oblivious of the fear she has instilled or is ridiculously proud of it, jumping out of the van with a cheer and helping Kiyoko carry her things up to the apartment.

 

Saeko sets down the last box and claps her hands together to dust them off. “I never asked, but why are you moving?”

 

“For the training,” Kiyoko replies, honestly. Or, it’s as honest as she can be with herself right now. “Cover training.”

 

“Oh!” Saeko grins and plants her hands on her hips, standing proudly as always. “You’re fantastic with covers, this trainee will be promoted as soon as you’re done with ‘em!”

 

Done with her. Right, Kiyoko had forgotten at some point this training will end and Hitoka won’t need her anymore. She probably won’t see Hitoka at all after this. Her chest feels sick with the thought, her stomach lurches, but she clears her throat and chuckles. “You have so much faith in me, Saeko-san.”

 

“Only ‘cause you’re good!” Saeko slaps a hand on Kiyoko’s shoulder, sharp, toothy grin only getting wider and it’s so infectious, Kiyoko smiles and believes her for that moment. “Well, I’m off! Don’t work too hard—but don’t slack off like me, either!”

 

“Definitely not.” Kiyoko doesn’t know if that means she plans to work hard or slack off but Saeko gets a kick out of it anyway. “Thank you again, Saeko-san.” Kiyoko waves her off, smiling to herself as she thinks of all the times Saeko has helped her out, the way Saeko fucking drives-

 

Once Saeko is at the bottom of the stairs Kiyoko hurries over to the top of the stairs and yells, “Please be careful on your way back.” Saeko just laughs and waves a double thumbs-up in the air before jumping into her van and speeding off. Kiyoko isn’t sure why she bothered saying anything, Saeko always does whatever she wants. It’s endearing in a way that’s uniquely Saeko, just like Hitoka is endearing in her own way. Kiyoko can’t put her finger on what it is, but that’s always been a habit of hers: trying to rationalise every little thought and feeling. Maybe that’s why she gets sluggish when she’s alone. Too much thinking.

 

Still, she can’t believe it’s already been three weeks. Only three weeks. Imagining things without Hitoka makes it all seem duller—even if it won’t last, maybe it’ll be okay to enjoy what time they do have. Besides, there is a lot to share, a lot they both need to learn.

 

That’s one thing her mother will always be right about. What’s she doing now? Is she on a mission in Bali or on a vacation? Her mother never tells her what’s a mission and what isn’t. Maybe it’s better that way. Kiyoko tugs at the collar of her shirt, time to stop thinking these thoughts. She leans against a suitcase and checks the time; it’s a little after ten. It’s not like she has anything to do but wait so she waits and shame on her she starts getting impatient five minutes later. Maybe she should call Hitoka, make sure she isn’t lost—

 

“Shimizu-senpai!”

 

Kiyoko should feel embarrassed by how quickly she gets to her feet and walks over to the stairs when she hears Hitoka calling her, but she’s not. She really, really isn’t. She should be, she basically skips her way over to Hitoka. Ugh. “Hitoka-chan, good morning. I was starting to think you’d gotten lost.”

 

“Well,” Hitoka drawls, laughter nervous, and Kiyoko can’t stop herself from smiling. It must be moving excitement, or anxiety, or something. “Maybe if your directions were clearer,” Hitoka huffs and Kiyoko can’t find it in herself to be offended.

 

“Maybe if I didn’t have to send them at five in the morning they’d have been clearer.”

 

“Ah—”

 

“Anyway, let me help you bring up your things,” Kiyoko hums, picking up a stack of boxes while Hitoka fusses.

 

“No, it’s okay, they’re kind of heavy!”

  
  
“That’s why you shouldn’t do it alone. You’ll strain yourself.”

 

“But I don’t want to be a bother—”

 

“Hitoka-chan,” Kiyoko braces the boxes against herself and looks at Hitoka for a while, long enough for her arms to start burning with the weight of the boxes. Why does Hitoka always think she’s a bother? “Please, let me help you.”

 

Hitoka seems to go blank, mouth parted as though she wants to say something, but nothing comes out. She just nods and picks up a few boxes as well. By the time they’re done bringing up Hitoka’s things, Hitoka is leaning against the wall and groaning while Kiyoko stretches it out and laughs to herself.

 

“Hitoka-chan, don’t forget to stretch.”

 

“But I’m tired.”

 

“And if you don’t stretch you’ll ache _and_ feel tired.”

                                                              

Hitoka mumbles some incoherent complaints, they’re complaints for sure, but she gets to her feet and starts stretching as well, “Fine. Only because you said to.”

 

Kiyoko feels proud, rolling her shoulders one last time and clapping when Hitoka finishes her stretches. “Good job. Here’s your prize for a job well done, hold out your hand,” and when Hitoka does Kiyoko dips her hand into her pocket and drops a small key onto Hitoka’s palm. Hitoka’s eyes go wide as she stares at it and when she looks up Kiyoko gestures for her to open the door. “It’s not like we can live on the corridor, you know?”

 

Hitoka snorts as she sticks the key into the doorknob, hesitating for a moment before unlocking the door and pushing it open. Hitoka walks in with an easy stride, already mapping out the apartment, and maybe Kiyoko imagined the way her hands had been shaking.

 

The apartment isn’t the most spectacular apartment ever, but it’s brighter and cosier than Kiyoko’s old apartment. It’s nice.

 

(Kiyoko tears out the bugs from the bedrooms and the bathroom. She checks the nooks and crannies in between, there’s nothing she hasn’t found, and she starts memorising the location of the wires in the living room. It’s nice, not paradise.)

 

“I like it,” Hitoka breathes when they’re standing in the living room, surrounded by their boxes and suitcases. They still need to unpack but Hitoka throws herself onto the couch and there’s nothing wrong with taking a break. Saeko said not to work too hard after all.

 

“Me too.” Kiyoko pulls out her phone and sends Hitoka a message—it just occurred to her, she can’t believe it slipped her mind before, but now that she’s actually in the apartment she remembers that Hitoka doesn’t know: _the living room is bugged. Company orders._

 

Hitoka checks her phone, eyes lingering on the screen. She sits up with a long stretch then says, “Senpai, let’s go for a walk.”

 

“Sounds good.”

 

When they’re in the parking lot Hitoka grabs her head and tells herself not to yell. She’s handling it better than Kiyoko had expected but she still feels guilty for waiting this long to tell her.

 

“Who bugs apartments? What even for?” Hitoka sure is animated today.

 

“I have no idea,” and it’s true. Kiyoko can’t hope to understand why they do the things they do; she has only come to accept them. Grudgingly. “Wait, I’ll tell you the truth. It’s because they’re a bunch of weirdos,” Kiyoko flashes a grin, the toothiest, most Tanaka-like grin she can muster, and Hitoka all but cracks up.

 

“Oh my god, senpai,” Hitoka says and it’s muffled because she’s pressing her hand to her mouth, “you’re right.” They snicker together in an empty parking lot and Kiyoko just lets it happen. She feels good.

 

Once it’s out of their system Hitoka curls her hands into fists and she looks as determined as she does when she wants to keep pushing herself, when she wants Kiyoko to let her keep pushing herself. “No, this can be good, it’ll be part of my training!”

 

“That’s an optimistic way of looking at it.”

 

“Isn’t it?” Hitoka flashes a smile, full and rosy, and Kiyoko feels blindsided by it. “I’ll make you proud, senpai. Just watch me!”

 

“Of course,” Kiyoko smiles and it feels smothered by Hitoka’s smile, the brightness of it. Kiyoko thinks she does an okay job of keeping her composure, but when they go back into the apartment Kiyoko heads straight to the bathroom and takes off her glasses so she can splash her face with cold water, grip the rim of the sink, and stare herself down in the mirror.

 

 _What the fuck are you doing, Kiyoko?_ Her head feels overwhelmed, she feels overwhelmed. She’s scared to label the feeling because she knows exactly what it is, what it has been for the past week. It’s nothing but trouble.

 

Still, maybe, in this incredibly roundabout way, she just might like Hitoka. Like-like in the way that clouds judgment and cost her father his life because assassins are supposed to keep their weapons sharp and their minds sharper.

 

The worst thing is there isn’t any reason for it: it’s just that she’s _Hitoka_. A stranger. They barely know each other, yet Kiyoko feels ill at the thought of her suffering, struggling, sobbing.

 

_You’ve gone and made a simple thing complicated._

 

Kiyoko wipes the water off her face with her hands and when she feels like she can face Hitoka she leaves the bathroom. Hitoka is sitting in the living room, stabbing cardboard boxes with a pen knife and pulling them open one after the other. Kiyoko stops to look at her grunting and crawling in beelines from box to box until she turns around, frown tugging up into an open smile without any warning. “Oh, I was starting to wonder if you’d gone somewhere!”

 

“I wouldn’t leave without telling you.” It feels as though her legs have been bolted to the floor and what she just said puts itself on a loop in the back of her mind, drilling into her just how honest she’s being right now. It wouldn’t be a crime to leave without saying but it would be a dick move to drag someone to live with you then ditch them within the first hour. “I dragged you here, the least I can do is be decent.”

 

“You didn’t drag me.” Hitoka says it as though it’s the simplest thing; Kiyoko wants to listen to all the things she wants to say, “You asked me to come and I came.”

 

It’s such a _Hitoka_ thing to say and Kiyoko laughs. Damn it. Her feet feel as though they’re stuck to the floor, content to remain there, and Kiyoko tries to force herself to move only for her entire body to tense up. It’s as though her body knows what her brain is working to deny so it rejects the command, so she makes it move—her body, her will—and she sits on the floor beside Hitoka. “I dropped it on you while you were still trying to wrap your head around things.”

 

Hitoka sets the pen knife aside and turns until they’re both sitting cross-legged on the floor, facing each other. Hitoka’s head is tilted up and she’s looking right at Kiyoko; she has been doing it more often the past week but this is the first time she’s doing it outside of training—isn’t it? Hitoka is looking at her, leaning forward, almost all the uncertainty she had first looked at Kiyoko with either gone or buried. She almost looks at ease. Maybe Kiyoko is just imagining it. “You told me what we had to do and we’re working through it together. And I really like that, so thank you.”

 

Together. When was the last time that word related to her or anything she did? When was the last time she just… did something with someone else?

 

Hitoka is smiling that sweet, happy smile that’s all her own and there is a slow burn spreading through Kiyoko’s chest, something like acid burning her insides away, something that isn’t really there but feels dangerous all the same. There has to be something she can do about it, something she can do to stop it from hurting her, stop it from spreading through her and maybe to Hitoka (but she wants it to spread—how could she bear to be alone in this).

 

“I like it, too,” Kiyoko admits; in the back of her mind, there’s a warning going off: it’s brand new and uncertain. It doesn’t know what it’s screaming about but it’s causing a ruckus, flipping all kinds of switches and thinking up all kinds of escape plans even though it knows there’s no escaping this. Kiyoko focuses on Hitoka’s smile instead and the warning gets both wilder and further away. “Hitoka-chan, you said you wanted to train earlier, didn’t you?”

 

Hitoka blinks, a slow, purposeful blink, then her eyelashes flutter and Kiyoko would like to take the time to count them. “I did-”

 

“I wonder if you’ll still want to train by the time we’re finished unpacking?”

 

“Senpai… you’re not gonna make me unpack on my own, are you?” Kiyoko smiles and Hitoka sits up, looking both surprised and offended, but Kiyoko waves the shock off with an _of course I’m going to help you_ and Hitoka takes a full minute to lean against a box, relieved, and groan. “Don’t make such cruel jokes, I wasn’t ready for that.”

 

Kiyoko still isn’t ready, doesn’t think she’ll ever be ready for what’s coming to her, but she steels herself as best she can, braces for impact. She takes the pen knife Hitoka had set aside and starts cutting open one of her own boxes, “If unpacking these boxes on your own gets you worried then I’m even more worried about you, Hitoka-chan.”

 

“Don’t be,” Hitoka sits up and looks right at Kiyoko again. It’s fantastic that Hitoka feels comfortable enough to strive for eye contact but Kiyoko can’t look Hitoka in the eye right now. “Soon, you won’t have to worry about me at all!” Hitoka chimes and pats her bicep proudly.

 

Not worry about her at all? Just living a peaceful life is worrisome enough; Hitoka could become the most skilled assassin in the world and Kiyoko would still worry about her—if she stretched, if she slept, if she’s adapting well, if she’s overwhelmed. It’s true that Hitoka is getting stronger but there’s still so much they both need to do.

 

Dealing with a crush isn’t one of them so Kiyoko would appreciate her brain not saddling her with yet another concern that she can barely manage, especially in relation to Hitoka, her subordinate, her _trainee_.

 

“We’ll see. For now, let’s make this apartment decent.”


	5. Growing Up, Up, and Away

It takes all afternoon to unpack, to sort everything out and separate their things into their bedrooms. Hitoka gets the room that sees the sunrise because she likes dawn; she likes hearing the birds sing as the sky goes from a dark cool to a warm cocktail. Hitoka wonders aloud if she’ll hear the birds singing in this apartment, in this town. Kiyoko hopes she will.

 

Kiyoko gets the room that sees the sunset because that’s the view from her room; it’s cosy and almost the same as Hitoka’s room, the only difference being the few ornaments decorating Hitoka’s room and making Kiyoko’s room look utilitarian in comparison. Hitoka points it out that night when they’re finished discussing this week’s training—adaptation and more conditioning—and Kiyoko doesn’t think much of it. Not until Hitoka returns to Kiyoko’s room holding an open terrarium and laughs when Kiyoko says she can’t believe those things are real.

 

“They’re very real and I’m giving this one to you,” Hitoka places it carefully on Kiyoko’s desk, fingers lingering on it and Kiyoko's throat burns. She doesn’t deserve it.

 

“I don’t even know how to take care of it.”

 

“It’s not too hard, I’ll teach you!” Hitoka walks over and Kiyoko shifts around so Hitoka can sit beside her. Kiyoko does her damnedest to not feel self-conscious and she fails spectacularly when Hitoka smiles at her. “You’re teaching me a lot, and I’ll teach you how to water plants.”

 

“Sounds like a fair trade.” Kiyoko laughs, bumps her shoulder against Hitoka’s, and earns a playful bump in return.

 

“I’m glad you think so,” Hitoka bounces off the bed and onto her feet, hands swinging to gesture to the door. “Now come on, senpai, it’s time for dinner.” Kiyoko stares too long and Hitoka asks, “You’re not hungry?”

 

“No, I am.” Kiyoko bounces off the bed, too, and when they open their empty cupboards, empty fridge and ice-filled freezer, they remember they still need to get groceries. They spent all afternoon unpacking and forgot about filling up the fridge that Kiyoko had to kick five times to get it working properly. Anything is fair game when it comes to food: Kiyoko has an efficiency policy (anything consumed can be worked off, eventually) and Hitoka has a survival strategy— “Survival strategy?”

 

“Yeah,” Hitoka says confidently and in the moment Kiyoko waits for her to explain she seems unable to meet Kiyoko’s eyes and she stammers around her words, just a little. “It’s not like you can pull through university without one, right?”

 

That’s right, Hitoka is still so… young. It's a patronising thought, but she really does still have her entire life ahead of her. Maybe Kiyoko does as well, in a sense. “You’re absolutely right.”

 

Along the road connecting the apartment complex with the town, there are little stalls and shops. Most are already closed for the night but there’s a ramen stall that’s still open. There’s a woman who stands strong despite the heat of all the ingredients, the traces of the day’s warmth, and her son who’s just returned from a delivery looking far less enthusiastic than she does.

 

This is where they meet their first contact.

 

“Sawamura-san, Daichi-san. How have you been?” Kiyoko reaches over the counter to shake their hands, running her fingers over their palms and they flash bright, matching smiles. It's so easy to see the relation. They fall into conversation easily because they are friends before they are co-workers, even though professionalism demands they push relationships aside. The world knows relationships colour every interaction, so Kiyoko doesn’t understand why it pretends otherwise. “This is Yachi Hitoka. You’ve heard of her, yeah?”

 

“People always talk.” Daichi reaches to shake Hitoka’s hand but his mother beats him to it, gushing over what a delightful little thing Hitoka is; Hitoka is red in the face, more due to playful pinches than full-on embarrassment, and Kiyoko sniggers. Everyone can use some playful smothering now and then. Daichi manages to get a handshake in for the sake of propriety when they sit and place their orders.

 

“What’s really surprising is that you moved all the way out here,” Sawamura chimes while Daichi prepares the ramen. “You never seemed like to type to just up and move.”

 

“You’re right. I’m not.” Kiyoko is used to pushy conversations, the kinds that follow their own flow no matter how much you try to direct it. The best thing to do in these situations is to relax and let it drag you along. “But I thought it would be a good change of pace.”

 

Sawamura seems satisfied with that and she pounces on Hitoka who immediately fixes Kiyoko with a pleading look. The best advice Kiyoko can give is a thumbs up and a mouthed go with the flow. Hitoka deflects, handling Sawamura's prying questions well, and that’s reason enough to believe she can handle herself under pressure. Maybe evaluating her behaviour under pressure shouldn’t be based solely on how she interacts with, arguably, one of the few people who can put people under stress with just a look, but Kiyoko may be biased. She may just enjoy looking at Hitoka swing between flailing and trying to direct the conversation only to flail as Sawamura steers it all over some metaphorical road.

 

“That's a nice smile you've got there. Haven't seen it in a while.” Daichi sets down Kiyoko’s ramen and lets his mother give Hitoka hers, which leaves Hitoka very nearly yelling her thanks as Sawamura squishes her cheeks together. Really, she’s having too much fun. Kiyoko drags her gaze from the scene and remarks that they all have nice smiles. Daichi shakes his head with a precise laugh. “How's training?”

 

Kiyoko snaps her chopsticks apart and spin them in the noodles. It’s hard to keep her eyes trained on them when Hitoka is right beside her, but Daichi is observant, clever. It’s possible he already has her figured out. “She’s hardworking, enthusiastic, but I’m worried she doesn’t know what she’s getting herself into.”

 

“Everyone knows what they’re getting themselves into when they choose this job.” He folds his arms on the counter and props himself up with them. Maybe Kiyoko has more skill in acting than she thinks, maybe she can lie to Daichi and he’ll fall for it. The idea leaves a bitter taste in her mouth and she scratches the thought as a waste of time.

 

In her peripheral Kiyoko can barely make out the set of Daichi’s jaw as he turns to glance at Hitoka, _the happy turn of Hitoka’s mouth_ after she slurps some noodles and chimes how delicious they are, Sawamura puffing her chest with a proud declaration then slipping behind the curtains near the back of the stall. Still, she keeps her eyes set on her ramen. 

 

Kiyoko knows what Daichi means when he says, “I’m sure she’s more than capable, especially with you to guide her.” It’s both a reassurance and a reminder, but perhaps Kiyoko’s stared for too long. Perhaps her gaze was too intense, or her voice was too soft around the syllables of Hitoka’s name. Doesn’t matter what tipped him off because Daichi knows. That’s funny, it always takes an outsider to point out the obvious, doesn’t it?

 

“I have faith in her.” Kiyoko uses eating as an excuse to stall the conversation and when Hitoka drags her stool closer to be able to talk to Kiyoko about the ramen it feels like the gesture alone is a gun to her back. Daichi doesn’t comment on it. There's a beat of silence then Daichi talks about the town, lover-boy dreamy in the way he describes even the boring details. Like someone counting each of their lover's eyelashes. It’s pleasant because it’s quiet, the people are kind, not too pushy (mostly), and outsiders aren’t considered outsiders so long as they don’t stir up trouble. Hitoka starts up an excited conversation about how beautiful the town is; she asks about recreation and job opportunities and Daichi responds with as much enthusiasm. It’s a perfect picture of normalcy.

 

Kiyoko is proud Hitoka hasn’t forgotten about her cover. That was the whole point of this. That’s the story Kiyoko is sticking with. Hitoka and Daichi hit it off so easily Kiyoko is almost surprised, but Hitoka doesn’t have the anxiety of her first day of work tied to her right now. Kiyoko wants to believe Hitoka is more comfortable around her, too. Aside from chiming in every now and again, Kiyoko listens to them talk, and when they finish their ramen Hitoka insists on paying this time. Daichi grins, gives her a little discount, and Hitoka gets an extra little bounce in her step.

 

They’re saying their goodbyes and ducking out of the stall when Daichi tosses Kiyoko a balled-up note that she grabs out of the air by trained reflex. “Koushi is in town,” Daichi says, catching Kiyoko’s gaze before refocusing on Hitoka, “he can put in a good word for you if you decide to take the opening at the school.”

 

“Really? Thank you, Sawamura-senpai, I’ll keep that in mind!” Hitoka returns Daichi’s wave and Kiyoko mirrors his smile gratefully, bidding him good night. In the dimly lit street Hitoka turns her prying gaze on Kiyoko and asks, “Koushi? As in Sugawara Koushi?”

 

“I see you’ve heard of him.”

 

“Of course, he’s one of our best informants, right?” It’s so strange, hearing Hitoka refer to Karasuno agents as ‘ours’. What took Kiyoko half a year barely took Hitoka a month. 

 

It takes a while to come to grips with reality.

 

“Yes. He’s a good friend, too.” The lighting may be awful but Kiyoko is sure she sees Hitoka’s eyes light up. Empathy. “You look happy about that.”

 

“I’m glad that there are friendships in this line of work. I was worried.”

 

“Did you think everyone was out to get everyone?” Hitoka fidgets and won’t meet Kiyoko’s gaze after that. Kiyoko didn't mean to make her feel guilty. “You’d be half right. Just like any other job, you need friends or connections to be able to get anywhere.”

 

“This job isn't all that different from other jobs, huh?”

 

“Think of it as a very literal representation of every description you’ve ever heard about the corporate world.”

 

“That’s scary.” Hitoka shivers exaggeratedly but some of it must be genuine; the night is cold.

 

“You'll be okay. Soon you'll be able to protect yourself.” Sooner than anyone would expect because Hitoka is relentless. She looks soft and sweet—and she is, she really is—but she’s willing to grab a goal with her hands and strangle the resistance out of it. The more Kiyoko thinks about it the more amazing Hitoka is, but Kiyoko can’t stifle all the _what ifs_ echoing in the silence. “I’ll be there for you, too.”

 

“Senpai,” Hitoka looks at her with wide eyes and Kiyoko can make out her lips moving in the darkness even though nothing is coming out. Kiyoko is about to stop walking and ask her to repeat herself until Hitoka grabs her arm and blurts, in a rush, “I’ll be there for you, too, so you can count on me, okay?”

 

“I will,” Kiyoko says it before the moment is lost. She says it before she can say anything else and lose what Hitoka is offering—a partnership. That’s more than Kiyoko should ask for. There’s a chance she shouldn’t even accept, she shouldn’t tie Hitoka down with that obligation, but she wants a connection that’s more than co-workers. She wants more, she wants Hitoka to trust her, to be comfortable around her, to _want_ to be with her.

 

Hitoka is smiling and something warm and relaxing forces the tension out of Kiyoko. She should be ashamed.

 

“Let’s check out the convenience store Daichi mentioned, we need groceries.”

 

“You’re right!” Hitoka looks up and down the street a few times and Kiyoko just smiles, quietly amused, and waits for Hitoka to confess. “I don’t know where it is.”

 

“You can learn the layout of the town by the end of the week,” Kiyoko takes Hitoka by the arm and leads her to the store. They talk about training because they must. Kiyoko tells her the tricks of scouting areas, how to use her cover to get different kinds of information in different ways.

 

Their shopping trip is filling up handbaskets while discussing how to balance Hitoka's cover with training and missions, how to keep people from getting suspicious, and Hitoka has a list of questions she confesses to having thought of beforehand because she doesn’t want to mess up. Kiyoko tells her she will mess up and she will only get better because of it. Failure is terrifying but once you can accept it you can make it work for you. Hitoka knows this, surely, but Kiyoko knows she wished someone would tell her this when she first joined the organisation.

 

There’s a laugh that gets them some looks but the line of Hitoka’s shoulders feels relaxed under Kiyoko’s hand so the looks are more than worth it. They buy more instant food than raw ingredients, some fruits and some more snacks. When Hitoka picks up two cartons of milk Kiyoko knows she shouldn’t snicker but she does. Hitoka pouts over it and in those twenty minutes Kiyoko feels close to her—Kiyoko can tell she’s got it bad: she thinks about what she can say that will draw Hitoka back into the conversation. She starts off thinking up clever little stories or world news and drifts off to things like asking what her favourite meals might be or how long she's been taking care of plants. Do you like books or movies? Have you always wanted to be a teacher?

 

They bid the cashier good night, walk back to their apartment (holy shit _their_ apartment) with their groceries swinging on their arms, and Kiyoko is unlocking their door and letting it swing open when she steps aside and asks, “Why didn’t you go on to become a teacher?”

 

“What?” Hitoka blinks, confused, but she walks into the apartment and starts unpacking the groceries without missing a beat.

 

“You’re planning to use teaching as your cover, right? And you studied for it in university, so why this?”

 

“I…” Hitoka pauses, milk carton in hand, but Kiyoko doesn’t have to bite back a laugh this time. “I want to make myself and my mother proud. This seemed like the best way to do that.”

 

“Not teaching?”

 

“What about you, senpai?” Hitoka’s voice is hard around the syllables now but Kiyoko won’t hold it against her. It wasn’t her place to pry.

 

“Well,” Kiyoko doesn’t know how to say it so it sounds noble, she doesn’t know how to say it to endear Hitoka to her, so she settles for the plain truth instead, “there wasn’t anything else for me. I’m only good at killing people and I don’t even like it.”

 

Hitoka stares, lips parted, and Kiyoko locks the door behind her and starts unpacking groceries as well, lining them up neatly in the cupboards and in the fridge. The silence draws on and Hitoka continues unpacking; they bump into each other a few times and Kiyoko decides babbling would be better than this dense silence.

 

“I used to run in high school. Track and field. I was good at it and it made training easier, and training made track and field easier.” Kiyoko glances at Hitoka; she won’t meet her eyes but she hasn’t left yet so Kiyoko continues. “I thought maybe that was what I wanted from life. Running, that rush? The aches and pains from training to jump hurdles instead of gun recoil, but I wasn’t special enough to make a career off that.”

 

“Then I thought maybe writing, the arts, but I could never give it the time it deserved. Then university came along and it was exams and training, trying not to fail either of them, and all my interests just… They were so far away. I kept a couple friends, I was only ever good enough to juggle a few and a few was enough for me.”

 

They’ve finished unpacking the groceries, plastic bags stuffed into each other and hooked on a cupboard handle in case they need them again. Hitoka is leaning against the small table jammed against the wall, stare somehow softer, less defensive. Kiyoko leans against the counter and fights the urge to ask any questions; she tries not to ask what Hitoka is thinking, how many things she regrets, where she wishes she were right now instead of in a shitty apartment with a supervisor. Hitoka has always been open and considerate in an unspoken way, as honest as anyone can be, and Kiyoko wants to do the same for her. This just happens to be the only way she knows how.

 

“I got into this business thanks to family, sort of like you, I think. My mother made me the best operative she could make me and all she ever asked was for me to live as good a life as I could, you know? I wanted to make her proud.” Kiyoko turns her palms to Hitoka and takes a deep breath before finishing, “So here I am, doing the only thing I know.” Hitoka presses her lips together, looking overwhelmed, and maybe Kiyoko should have thought this through a little better, but. Well.

 

She’s tired, anyway. “Sorry, that was too much, wasn’t it?” Hitoka remains silent, still, and Kiyoko supposes that’s it for the night. “Don’t let this get to you,” she runs a hand through her hair, busying her fingers with working out the tangles, as though the distraction will make her stronger, “you can forget about this. We’ll still wake up tomorrow and continue with your training-”

 

“Senpai,” Hitoka interrupts her and Kiyoko lets her hand fall to the countertop, turning her head to Hitoka and fighting the urge to turn her body away as though the action would shield whatever vulnerable parts Kiyoko carelessly exposed. She’s been very careless these past few years. “I. I’m sorry. I’ve been treating you more like an idol and... less like the human being you are.”

 

It’s Kiyoko’s turn to fall silent but even as Hitoka takes the reigns her hands curl into fists at her sides as though she’s willing herself to stand her ground. “Like I said earlier, you can count on me. I’ll do my best to meet you halfway. So…”

 

Hitoka didn’t go into teaching because she thinks she isn’t worth it.

 

It’s something Kiyoko pieces together throughout the week based on the bits and pieces Hitoka tells her during their free time. She didn’t think she was capable; she didn’t think she deserved it. Kiyoko would throttle those thoughts but that’s all they are, thoughts, and she can’t kill them no matter how willing she is.

 

Kiyoko told Hitoka everything off the top of her head in one rush of desperation. Hitoka deliberates over what to tell Kiyoko and lets the information fill the quiet spaces between training and Hitoka’s application as a teacher in training at the town kindergarten. Hitoka jokes about being a trainee all around and Kiyoko knows there’s a time and place for everything.

 

Once while Hitoka is almost delirious with exhaustion she says, “I want to prove I’m worth something. I know this isn’t a game,” Hitoka raises her arms and appraises her swollen hands, the bruises spreading along her arms, “this is exactly why this is perfect for it. To be able to pull through something like this life… I’ll definitely be worth something, won’t I?” She mumbles a little more before passing out on Kiyoko’s shoulder. They haven’t brought it up again. Kiyoko doesn’t know how—she can’t even imagine how. It’s the first time her heart shivered without her staring down the barrel of a gun with her body screaming she wouldn’t escape this time.

 

Hitoka wants to make her mother proud. She wants to prove she’s worth something by pulling through a hell like this; it’s almost masochistic but Kiyoko doesn’t know if Hitoka gets any pleasure from it at all. They’re strangely similar, subjecting themselves to a lifestyle for a metaphorical pat on the head.

 

Though, there is a difference: Hitoka has a chance to make a life outside of this; Kiyoko does not. Kiyoko is good at taking heads and cutting throats, Hitoka could be a teacher, so why is Hitoka beating herself to bits over this? Why is Kiyoko letting her—why is the world letting her? Every time Kiyoko brings it up Hitoka politely shuts down the conversation and changes the topic. Their default topic is training.

 

Two weeks into their lives in this new town and they’re somewhat used to each other. They say good morning reflexively and take turns preparing breakfast. Kiyoko makes breakfast for the first week because Hitoka is numb every morning, head buried into her folded arms while Kiyoko makes omurice and tea because it’s the least she can do for her. Hitoka is finally getting used to the conditioning, she doesn’t throw up anymore and she can make it back home and through a shower before passing out on her bed. Her tireless effort is paying off even though Kiyoko wishes she wouldn’t throw herself about so recklessly.

 

Their days aren’t spent together: Kiyoko makes trips to the office to hand in progress reports and check for missions; Hitoka flits between the training grounds and being called in for interviews. Friday is when she finally gets interviewed and she grumbles about the pointless stress while showing Kiyoko how to manage the terrarium. Kiyoko isn’t sure how to cheer her up, she hasn’t had to cheer anyone but herself up for a while, so she gently tugs the end of Hitoka’s ponytail and says it will definitely improve her endurance. Hitoka seems unconvinced, but she lets it go in favour of laughing at how hopeless Kiyoko is when it comes to caring for plants—and plants in general. Just because Kiyoko likes looking at plants doesn’t mean she knows shit about them. That makes Hitoka laugh even more.

 

During the weekend Hitoka gets a call: she’s gotten the job, and it’s more of a miracle she was conscious to answer than anything else.

 

Kiyoko taps Hitoka’s shoulder with a bottle of cold water after the call, smile wide, “You’ve improved so much since you’ve started.”

 

“And I’ll keep improving,” Hitoka manages a grin between trying to catch her breath and draining the bottle of water. She should reward Hitoka in some way, positive reinforcement, but Kiyoko can’t think of any good way to do it so she slaps Hitoka on the back and lets her bask in the accomplishment.

 

Hitoka still passes out but now she’s not completely out of commission after a session. She wakes up at midnight and catches Kiyoko in their living room planning the training regimen and relaying reports to Koushi and Takeda. Hitoka stares at first, eyes wide, but she sits beside Kiyoko, quietly and half asleep. On the third night she admits, “I don’t even know why seeing you like this surprises me. I mean, of course you’re busy, too.” Kiyoko just tilts her head toward her and Hitoka dismisses it as _sort of sleep talk_.

 

Eventually they start talking during these moments, too. When Hitoka can’t think of anything else to say, Kiyoko lets her help with designing the regimen. She lets Hitoka get involved and tells her everything she can’t show her. It’s so much easier than trying to plan it out on her own and Hitoka knows her body better than Kiyoko’s estimates ever will. Naturally Hitoka tries to push too much training into too little time and Kiyoko balances it out.

 

“Don’t forget you’ll be doing all the things assistant teachers do between training,” Kiyoko chides, tapping the pen on the back of Hitoka’s hand and Hitoka laughs and rubs her hand.

 

“Oh yeah! I forgot.”

 

“That’s not true.”

 

“You’re good at picking out lies, senpai.”

 

“Or maybe you just weren’t trying to lie just then.” Hitoka chortles and Kiyoko lets it be. It’s not like Hitoka would be able to sneak in extra training without Kiyoko realising it. “Rest is just as important as training, Hitoka-chan. Don’t forget that.” Hitoka chimes her agreement and salutes but Kiyoko knows that’s one thing that won’t stick until Hitoka experiences it for herself.

 

Hitoka struggles with balancing her cover with her training at first. It’s as though she’s back to square one. Whenever Kiyoko gets a moment with her Hitoka grits her teeth and clenches her fists so tightly they shake. It’s a frustration Kiyoko can understand; it’s a frustration Hitoka needs to come to terms with. Kiyoko almost doubts she will.

 

It’s midnight and Hitoka wakes up like clockwork. It’s been maybe a month or two since they moved in together (Kiyoko stops keeping track, it feels easier that way) and they’re used to each other now. Hitoka walks into the living room and Kiyoko shifts around so Hitoka can sit and lean on her. Kiyoko focuses on her paperwork and reminds herself it’s because Hitoka is more asleep than awake.

 

“How do you all do this. Every. Day.”

 

It doesn’t sound like a question but Kiyoko treats it like one, “We adapt, get used to it.” Kiyoko lets herself indulge in threading her hand through Hitoka’s hair, punctuating the gesture with a careless pat on the head to cover her tracks. “You will, too. Don’t worry.”

 

“I don’t know if I can.”

 

“You can. I have faith in you.” Kiyoko pauses then drops her pen. The report can wait. “You enjoy teaching, right? Tell me about it.”

 

The silence draws on, maybe Hitoka fell asleep on her, but then she asks, “You sure? It’s not very exciting.”

 

“If you enjoy it, tell me about it.”

 

Hitoka sits up and turns towards Kiyoko, sitting cross-legged on the couch and looking excited despite the sleepy droop of her eyes. The more she talks about the children at the kindergarten the more energetic she gets, gestures flailing in the space between them. She talks about children by name. How much Yuta’s reading has improved, how Miyu was finally brave enough to make a friend, how Ayane and Riko finally called a truce in the playroom. Hitoka lights up from the inside while talking about the children and how lovely they are despite their fights and tantrums—this must be what someone who _loves_ something looks like. She's glowing; she looks so fucking happy. Kiyoko only realises she’s smiling when Hitoka mentions it.

 

“It’s nice to see you so happy,” Kiyoko brushes some hair out of her face, hooking the strands behind her ear because she needs to do something with her hands. “Teaching the children; being with them. You look like you love it.”

 

Hitoka stares, as though watching a puzzle be put together, breathing in through her open mouth when realisation hits. Hitoka looks away, smile so fond Kiyoko can’t bear it. Her chest caves in and she slumps onto her elbows, elbows on her knees—if only that expression could be directed at her, too. “I guess I do.”

 

“Focus on that. It’ll be easier to pull through.”

 

Kiyoko gets back to her paperwork in their silence, stopping only when Hitoka wraps her arms around Kiyoko’s waist and squeezes. She buries her face into Kiyoko’s side with a quiet thank you and Kiyoko lets herself lean into Hitoka’s embrace. Only a little. If Koushi asked she would say Hitoka was a little cold, a little homesick. (As though Kiyoko could ever heal homesickness in anyone.)

 

The next few weeks slide into a rhythm Hitoka moves to with ease. First it’s more optimism than anything else; Kiyoko still slips into Hitoka’s room to poke her, pinch her cheeks, and tickle her until she wakes up. Kiyoko still pulls Hitoka into a half hug and tells her she can sleep again once the day is over, the bed won’t go anywhere. Kiyoko still tugs Hitoka to the bathroom and makes omurice for breakfast because Hitoka spends ten minutes brushing her teeth in her sleepy daze. This is a regular morning, the most welcome and domestic kind Kiyoko can even hope to dream of, until some Wednesday when Kiyoko opens the door and Hitoka is already sitting up. 

 

This is new. Kiyoko lingers in the doorway, unsure of what she should do in this situation, while Hitoka remains in her daze. She stares at her terrarium in the dim light then she stares at Kiyoko for an unbearably long moment until she pulls herself off the bed with a sleepy smile.

 

After a few more weeks Hitoka is up and about by the time Kiyoko gets to her room.

 

This is good, it means Hitoka is adapting to her cover and her training well enough to function on her own. It’s excellent, really. Hitoka stops passing out on the couch and Kiyoko doesn’t have to wake her up anymore. This is what Hitoka has been working for, this is one of the things Kiyoko has been training her for, yet it’s difficult to be overjoyed. 

 

Maybe Kiyoko (sort of) misses carrying Hitoka to bed and waking her up. She can admit that much to herself.

 

When Kiyoko offers to spar with her and Hitoka accepts the offer, Kiyoko has Hitoka on her back in five moves. It leaves Hitoka looking awed and gasping for air even when she takes Kiyoko’s hand and pulls herself to her feet.

 

“There’s no way I can beat you,” she sputters, trying to rub the dull ache out of her shoulder. Kiyoko feels bad about it but how else will Hitoka get stronger?

 

“Maybe not right now, but soon.” Hitoka laughs and shakes her head so Kiyoko falls into her stance. “Again.”

 

“What?” Hitoka stumbles back, eyes wide as she shakes her head. “No way, I’d rather do the conditioning.”

 

“But you don’t need conditioning, you need combat training.” Kiyoko dashes towards her and Hitoka jumps back, keeping a steady distance between them. “See?”

 

For all the fidgeting and lip biting Hitoka does as she tries to think up a counterargument, she can’t come up with one. She presses her fists to her forehead and groans in frustration. “Fine, dammit,” she grits, closing the distance between them in a rush. Kiyoko steps aside, grabs Hitoka by the arm, and throws her to the ground. Hitoka rolls onto her back with a pained groan and makes no move to get up.

 

“Come on, Hitoka-chan,” Kiyoko stands over her and offers her hand again, feeling too smug for someone beating up a newbie. “We have a lot of work to do.”

 


End file.
